


lost and confound

by zoroarks



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Family Issues, Gen, Protective Rick, Running Away, kind of inspired by coraline, see if you can figure out how
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoroarks/pseuds/zoroarks
Summary: in which morty has a breakdown and decides to use one of his "three or four" universe jumps on impulse, to assimilate somewhere else on his own. problem is, he's stuck in god-only-knows which universe with a broken portal gun, and things aren't as great as he'd wanted them to be. just don't think about it.





	1. runaway

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure how active this fandom is, but here's my first rnm fanfiction. when you finish, please leave comments as reviews! it would really help inspire me to write more chapters. happy reading!

morty is a hypocrite. he's nothing but a big hypocrite who points out all of the moral flaws, all the wrongness, in everything that rick does, but never does anything to stop him and never put his foot down when it's his turn to fuck everything up. there's always and endgame, but morty seldom knows what that endgame is, and he still goes along with it. at least he's become good at thinking on his feet, but what does it matter when he's sacrificed so much? by this point, rick has shaken his core beliefs enough that they're not really at his core anymore. they're off to the side, sometimes entering his thought process, usually going ignored. right now, he's ignoring them, pretending they don't exist; a child putting his hands over his ears and shouting "la la la!" because he can't lose if he can't hear the other argument.

they've only switched places with another rick and morty once (as far as he's aware of), back when his attempt to win jessica over went terribly, terribly wrong. two failed cures later, rick had taken him to another universe, one where they'd fixed everything and died right after. certainly, you can't do anything more traumatizing than bury yourself in the backyard, but that's what morty did - he'd burned his clothes afterwards because even if he washed off the blood, he would never feel clean beneath the fabric, but he'd gone through with it with minimal assistance from his grandfather. life had gone on, and he'd tried to take that advice he always got from rick, "don't think about it." for a little while, it had almost worked, his psyche dancing around what they'd done, but he never did get over it. at least that's going to help him today, even if it's what pushed him to this in the first place, as he snatches the portal gun into his pale fingers and bolts out of the garage, hoping that rick was too distracted to notice - or that he doesn't care. the latter seems more likely to morty, but he tries not to think about that, either. soon enough, it won't even matter. all he has to do is ignore it for a little while longer, and he'll be fine. everything is going to be fine, absolutely everything.

by the time he's far from the house, somewhere more wooded and alone, the sun is setting. he'd zoned out for quite a bit there, and he has no idea how long this took him, but he's a lot more tired now that he's paying attention to his body again, so he sits down, flinching when leaves crunch under his weight. after panting for a minute, he looks down at the portal gun in his hands, watching it shake unsteadily with him. earlier, he had been so certain about this plan, but  _now..._ no. no, he's not going to pussy out of this one, because that would prove rick right, and he's so tired of rick being right all the time. he's tired of being the stupid, worthless one. for once, he's going to win, and it doesn't even matter if rick doesn't know that, because this is about him. he already knows how selfish this is, but he's okay with that.

after all the adventures they've been on, morty has a pretty good idea about how to use this thing. nothing perfect, but he's sure he'll be able to try again if he gets it wrong, so what does it matter? slowly but steadily, he presses the right buttons, watches as the familiar green vortex appears at his feet.  _here goes nothing,_ the teen thinks bitterly, holding his breath as he steps into what feels like the most important portal of his life.

* * *

this time, he's much less shocked by the sight of his own dead body. actually, at this point? morty is just annoyed. he just went through so many realities that wouldn't work, it's ridiculous, but he thinks this one just might be perfect. it seems to match up with his pretty well ("we haven't skipped a beat," rick's voice announces proudly in his mind), aside from the fact that he's cold and permanently still in his bed. he wonders what happened. suicide? weird alien disease? he can't tell, and he doesn't really want to find out. it's better to get this over with before the sun rises, so he can assimilate himself with more ease. sneaking around the house once more, morty retrieves a shovel, one of the most normal things stored in the garage, and drags the corpse of his alternate self out into the backyard, burying him in the same place that he had buried the last him. looks like this was the original morty for this universe, because there don't seem to be any shallow graves here. he could have been a replacement from the citadel, though.

suddenly, morty feels bitter, digging paused so he can seethe. replacement morty. is that what his rick is going to do now? march up to the citadel, grab himself a fresh new morty, use that coupon they gave him to pick one free of charge? fueled by anger, he starts to dig harder, ignoring the way his back is beginning to burn. he never wants to think about his stupid rick again, his stupid rick who's so much better than him and always reminds him of that fact, his stupid rick who does nothing but force him to do things that he doesn't want to do. his stupid rick who doesn't care about anyone, especially not his dumb cloaking device of a grandson. here, now, he'll try again. all he can do is hope that this one is a little more to his taste. he'll go with the flow for a few days, and if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. he can just leave whenever, because he isn't even their morty. they lost their morty already. rick was right - he's doing these people a favor, saving them from their grief or whatever, and - wait,  _no._ the teen grits his teeth. no more thinking about his rick, because whatever the rick in this universe is like,  _that_ is his rick now.

once the dirt is packed over the other morty's resting place, he looks around for something to put over it. unlike summers, beths, and jerries, ricks are smart enough to know what's up, so he'll have to be careful while he's getting adjusted. eventually, he settles on dragging a few long-unused bags of mulch over the grave, grunting as he moves. there, totally inconspicuous. who doesn't have a rectangular row of mulch bags in the backyard? at this point, he just wants to go inside and pass out, so he wipes the sweat off his brow with one arm, smearing dirt across his forehead as he treks dutifully through the kitchen and up to "his" room. in the morning, he can shower, just like he would back in his own reality (or, the last one that he claimed as his, at least). for now, all he wants to do is sleep.

meanwhile, a rick whose morty died tonight is staring into the backyard, merely blinking. he can't help but wonder where this morty came from, or why he came  _here,_ but it seems like he's trying to be sneaky. the thought brings a smile to rick's face; this is absolutely adorable, if not a little surprising. this isn't a stunt that his first morty would have pulled, but the fact that this one would is intriguing. what kind of rick did he have before? his guard is up - not that it's ever down - but he'll let the new morty think he's getting away with it, for as long as he wants or needs or whatever. there's no point in dramatically dragging him aside, telling him he knows his secret and he respects him for his courage or boldness. no, he's never been the type of man to do a thing like that. most ricks aren't. that'd probably make him leave, too, which isn't what rick is looking for. his eyes fall to the kitchen counter, where he spots a portal gun which he knows isn't his own. the kid must've left it right there before he went to bury his counterpart. only a morty would do something so stupid, and he'll have to pay the price. rick picks the thing up, returns it to his own garage, and smashes it until he knows it's far beyond repair. there; that'll fix that problem. now it doesn't even matter what he, or the intruder in his reality, or anyone else who lives here does, as long as he keeps his own device guarded.

who would pass up on a free replacement morty?

 


	2. assimilation

when he wakes up, everything hurts. his muscles ache, as does his head, and his eyes burn enough that he squeezes them shut as soon as his conscious, pressing the backs of his hands against his lide as if it'll help him to feel any better. when he forces himself to register things outside of his various pains, the next thing morty registers is the fact that he's dirty. he can physically feel how dirty to is, and he wrinkles his nose after using it to take a few deep breaths. the smell of dirt and sweat and something rancid that he can't quite put his finger on is bad enogh that he can't stand it - he can't imagine how unbearable it would be to anyone else, not to mention suspicious. a shower is certainly in order.

first things first, though. why is he filthy and tired? did rick take him out on another late night adventure? there's nothing out of the ordinary about that, but morty usually finds himself going over it the second he wakes up. he's never so groggy and disoriented. the teen swings his legs over the edge of his mattress with a grunt, headache pounding fiercely, then freezes up as a floodgate opens in his brain, releasing all of the events of yesterday so he can relive them in his head. the casual (albeit pained) look on his face suddenly becomes somber. yes, he remembers it all too clearly now.

_it's not too late to go back,_ he thinks, or, rather, the little part of him that's still positive does - the little part leftover from when he was a wide-eyed, optimistic sidekick of a kid. morty feels like something else, now, something tired and suspicious and independent, and he refuses to listen to that personal voice of reason, as if he has something to prove.

a change of clothes in his arms, clothes he's never actually worn but are identical to so many that he has, morty creeps to the bathroom, moving carefully as to avoid contact with anyone who's already awake. he doesn't even know what day it is, and wonders if he has school. or, is it summertime right now? nothing makes a lot of sense; he's still quite hazy. lock clicking behind him, he peels off the messy clothes from the previous day, throwing them carelessly into a corner and pledging that he won't put them on ever again. a long, hot shower is sure to get him thinking straight again, as well as clean him off, so that's what he'll do first. all is going well until someone knocks on the door, making him jump - he nearly slips on the wet floor of the shower, and wondering what could've happened if he did sends a harsh shiver down his spine despite the heat. after last night, everything feels like a threat to his life.

more pounding on the door pulls him out of his fearful daze, and he hears the familiar voice of his sister. despite the knowledge that she isn't his, as well as the fact that she's angrily shouting his name and telling him to hurry up - there's something  _extra_ irritated in her voice, did this morty never shower in the mornings? - there's something comforting about hearing it. the sound is an anchor, a reminder that not everything in his life is screwed over. "i'll be r-right out!" he shouts back, not feeling in the mood to argue (as well as not knowing if whatever mood he  _is_ in is a good one or a bad one). morty makes sure there's no residual soap on his body or in his hair, then shuts the water off and hurries to dry off and get dressed. unfortunately, he can't know if this is characteristic of "him," but he'll simply try to gauge summer's expression when he scurries out. he'll put all of the pieces of this new life together, even if it takes him a little while. so what if he doesn't have rick to help him out? morty is beyond done with needing people, especially his grandfather. reliance seems too weak to consider now, an option that's very far out of the question. he's never going to lean on another person again.

his sister gives him a "you should know better" look, as if the bathroom is hers and he should be rotting away in his own filth somewhere else. downstairs, he asks what they're having for breakfast - beth ignores him entirely, while jerry shrugs, seeming a little... surprised. what, does the old morty never ask for breakfast, either? after a few moments, the man absentmindedly replies, "you do that, morty." do what? make breakfast? he refuses, because he doesn't feel like making breakfast, that's for certain.

from what he can gather, he's a total pushover in this dimension. it's not like he was ever the most aggressive, or even assertive, person in the families he's had, but this is just an entirely new level of treatment. what is he, a welcome mat? with each offense, the brunette grits his teeth and rolls with it, anger flashing in his eyes as opposed to the dejection that his surrogate family is used to. he thought they would be used to it, at least, but they pay the minor change no mind. maybe they don't think it's worth the energy to look into it, or maybe they truly can't tell the difference. the latter is more likely, purely due to the situation. this is less of a mark on their intelligence and more of an indication that this morty was, in fact, far more subservient than him, ready to give up whatever he's holding or drop whatever he's doing for any member of the family, rick or otherwise. resentment builds in less than an hour, forcing a knot to form in his stomach which prevents him from eating the cereal he prepares himself. no one points that one out, either, and it's really starting to get to him now.

perhaps he should have looked harder, thought this out better - choosing the first place that seemed close enough at a glance probably wasn't the best option that he could've gone with, but he'd already made the choice. he can't help but wonder how exact the number of these he could get away with was, and then he's thinking about home all over again, and he's wondering if he should just throw in the towel and return, come up with some bullshit excuse for the temporary disappearance. his pride gets in the way again, though; not because his ego is inflated, but because it can't take many more hits before he starts crumbling down at his foundations. he's sure rick would know what he did, and he'd never hear the end of it. the words are already playing in his own head, without his volition: "jeez, m-morty, you even ran away from r-running away, huh?" and he's mad at rick for saying that, even though he didn't actually say it, and it reminds him of the situation that he's gotten himself into by slipping into another morty's place, and at this point? it's all just a loop of unhappiness.

excusing himself with a mumble, and assuming it wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't spoken at all because no one seems to notice him talk or move, he slips away from the mindless living room and to the garage. rick is the only new family member who he hasn't gotten to interact with yet, and he'd rather get that over with than feel anxious about it, even if it doesn't seem like something this morty would do. what would he do, other than follow his family's orders or curl up in his room? while he's glad he's not like that, he's fully aware that these people expect him to be. if anyone's going to call him out, it'll be rick. the thought hits him as his fingers graze the doorknob. what if rick considers his strange behavior a sign, realizes he's not who he says? no, he can't take that chance, not under these circumstances. the teen turns tail and redirects himself to his room, shutting the door behind him and putting his back against it with a long sigh.

there's a calendar in the room, and he checks it. saturday, still the middle of march. in two days, he'll have to keep up the facade in a place that he can't imagine is any better that his new home: school. he doesn't see any sense in looking ahead so far, though, because he isn't sure he'll make it there. Forty-eight hours around these people sounds fucking insane, especially when he feels like he's walking on eggshells every step of the way.

this is gonna be a long weekend.

* * *

way back in the dimension morty left behind, rick gets up very far past noon. brow furrowed, he lets one of his forearms fall over his eyes for a moment, then forces himself out of bed (well, he's not even in bed, he'd passed out on the couch - but, whatever). ugh, he was so drunk yesterday, he can't even remember half of what happened around the house, but that's never stopped him from going on with his inconsistent plans and experimentation. it's not a weekday, as far as he can remember, so he begins to head upstairs, scouting out morty's room. when his knock earns no answer, he's genuinely surprised. morty has never ignored him like that, not in the middle of the day. after a few more minutes, and a lot more knocking, he pushes the door open himself.

the bedroom is eerily empty, as if no one had ever slept within it or entered the area within its four walls. shaken for reasons he can't express, rick exits, sure to shut the door behind him and take a generous swig from his flask. great, now he has to play find-the-morty. that's exactly what he'd wanted to do this morning... afternoon... whatever it is. as he heads back downstairs, he passes summer, and he gives him a bored look, truly uninterested in what she might be doing or who she might be texting on her phone. "h-hey, have you seem m-morty? i need him for something," he asks, detachment evident in his tone. the look he gets is only a tad concerning, and so is the response the girl gives him.

"we haven't seen morty all day, grandpa rick. he's been out since, like, yesterday." although summer doesn't seem to worried about it, rick can't help but feel unsettled. it isn't like his grandson to go off for a long time like that - or to go off at all - and to think, he hadn't even noticed his absence. maybe this explains why his daughter and her stupid husband don't seem to be around. could they be looking for him? grunting something like an acknowledgement to summer, he finishes his trip down the stairs, then finds his way to the garage. this can't be too hard, can it? as much as he complains about it, he has to find morty pretty often. this time, he just has to eliminate home and school. that shouldn't be any biggie, for a genius like himself. as he passes by his worktable, he reaches down to grab his portal gun, as he's sure it was right there, on the edge, closest to the garage door. his hand grasps around nothing but empty air, fingers jamming into his palm in an action that's somehow equally jarring and feeble. surprised, he stops in his tracks, eyes darting around, but he knows it had been here the previous morning, which was the last time he'd needed it. where could it have gone since then? who could have moved it? who... who...

rick's thoughts rush for a moment, then come to a halt, eyes widening ever so slightly. he really hates it when he pieces things together like this, but he can't help but infer, even if he doesn't want to. it's the only thing that makes sense, really, because two things are missing: the portal gun, and his morty. correlation doesn't always equal causation, but in this case, the connection is almost certain - so crystal clear, a blind man could see it. maybe not jerry, though. jerry is the only person he can think of who wouldn't be able to figure this out. wondering where morty got himself lost in, rick sighs. whether he likes it or not, it looks like time for a new travel device, and that's honestly his biggest concern. morty might not be the smartest one in the house, but he's no idiot. he couldn't have gotten himself too deep into trouble, certainly not. for once in his life, rick doesn't allow himself to think such a negative thought. as impressive as that is, maybe it's a mistake not to assume the worst - especially not when it comes to morty smith's infamous bad luck.

 

 


	3. continuation

morty spends most of the weekend in his new room. the things here are more organized than they were in his own dimensions, and he pledges to keep them like that, but it feels like he ruins it a little bit just by being there. sure, the room looks the same at a glance, and anyone other than him probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference; it still worries him, though. there are much messier people out there, but he's only mildly order-oriented, keeping things near enough to be convenient. the amount of detail here is totally different from that: everything's straightened, and organized by color or alphabetically or any other number of things that take him a minute to figure out. systematic, overexaggerated, as if nobody ever really lived here, and all of this stuff is just for show, in the hopes that someone (such as himself, specifically) would find a home here one day.

_a morty is a morty is a morty._ what a rick-like mindset, one he shouldn't have fallen into so easily, one he certainly shouldn't have built this entire plan around. doesn't he have an ounce of his own brain left? anything untouched by his grandfather, anything at all? not that he can think of, no. it's bonechilling, and exactly the kind of thing you think about when you're left to ruminate in your room all day.

"all day" is sort of an overstatement. after he retreated there instead of meeting his new rick on that first meeting, morty left the room exactly five times in the following two days. each was to get food - first for himself, and from the second venture on, his family really started getting on his ass about including them in that operation. his cooking probably isn't up to par, compared to whatever their other morty could've done, but he tries his best. not that they deserve it. if he's being honest, he's kind of afraid of this version of them, the way they feel like puzzle pieces that got forced together, not really fitting, but forming the general shape of a family nonetheless. his family has always been dysfunctional, but not like this. not to the point of being dark and cold and painful, not to the point of filling him with dread. especially not the sick feeling he gets when he sees rick for the first time, eating one of the crappy sandwiches he makes on sunday afternoon. his new grandfather doesn't say anything, just... gives him this unsettling look that discourages him from eating entirely. he doesn't return for dinner, and nobody goes after him.

this brings him to outing number five, where he wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and abandons all hope in that half-asleep haze of his. he wants to go back to his old home, where no one respects him so much, but no one really expects anything of him, either. it's preferrable to this, he reasons with himself, as he slinks downstairs, trying to remember where he left the portal gun. it doesn't seem to be anywhere, though... did he leave it out, and then rick took it into the garage? morty's heart stops. maybe he already knows. maybe not. maybe, maybe, maybe. when the teen tries to check in the garage, he doesn't get far; he twists the knob, starts to take a step into the room, and immediately gets shouted at. already feeling damaged from everything that's happened here, he jumps and runs back to the relative safety of his room as fast as he can.  _a morty is a morty is a morty._ sometimes, that feels true all over again. life has never done anything but throw him curveballs, make him doubt himself, make him want to curl up and sleep for a century or two. he hates to admit it, but he wants to go on another adventure, two in the morning or not.

the adventure doesn't come, but he wakes up feeling like it might have - totally unrested, sore, and mildly nauseous. knowing he needs to eat, morty gets dressed and goes downstairs again, planning on eating as much cereal as he can stomach before he has to get to school. (how does he get to school? should he catch the bus? does he walk? nobody drives him, that's for certain.) "good morning," he says to whoever happens to be at the table - his mom and his sister - out of habit, but he doesn't even feel a thing when he gets no reply. it's all too easy to get used to. thank god they're already eating their own things, so he doesn't really hear anything from them at all, other than a small reminder from beth that he and summer should both head out for school. the older teenager says she has a ride today, and it seems to bring a smile to them both. then, morty gets a look from his mother that nearly seems accusatory in nature.

"do  _you_ have a ride?" she asks, not even blinking. he swallows hard, dropping his spoon on the spot and carrying some uneaten cereal to be dumped down the drain of the kitchen sink.

"i-i, uh... no, i don't." he's fourteen. even if he had friends, which he doesn't where he's from and he's sure that's no different here, they would be allowed to drive just as much as he is; that is to say, not at all. morty bites his tongue, though, trying to curb both his aggression and anxieties.

summer's on him right away, like a rabid dog whose muzzle was just ripped off. "better get going, then." of course she wouldn't let him ride with her and her friends, or boyfriend, or whoever the hell is picking her up. he wouldn't expect any different from his last summer, but,  _still._ she's so predictable, in the sense that she's a total bitch, who seems to hate him for some indescriminate reason. "like, right now." really pushing it, isn't she? or, maybe he's the one who's pushing. morty can't say until he glances at a clock, and then... he hardly stops himself from shouting.

"h-how am i supposed to-" the doorbell rings, interrupting him and prompting summer to stand up, reaching for a backpack. it's almost shocking, seeing her turn the screen of her phone off and put it into her not-deep-enough back pocket, even if it's for just a couple minutes that he won't get to see the extent of.

"that's for me. bye, mom!"

he's decidedly left out of her little goodbye, and for some reason, that's the thing that really pushes him, makes him think to himself that he's had enough. morty knows he can't escape right now, not exactly, so he just turns and leaves, using the backyard and going around so he doesn't run into summer or her ride. his school stuff is already with him, and he tries to jog, so he won't be late. he just gets tired, and he'll be late no matter what.  _nothing_ he does  _ever_ __matters, not even the decision to come here. he wonders what's going on with rick right now - he probably figured out what happened, cursed the stolen technology, and marched out to find himself a better grandson. the old man isn't going to shed a tear over him, he knows it. that's the part of his permanent leave that hurts most of all, and it certainly burns more than the detention he's sure to get for his late arrival, or the bullying he knows he'll have to endure, ever could. not that those things add up, because they will. they do. it's hard to ignore your problems, unless you're rick, who seems to do it just fine 24/7 without a hitch. lucky rick, yeah, a real fucking lucky man. losing his morty made him that much luckier.

* * *

while one rick works on some inventions and thinks up an errand to specifically bother his new grandson (for no reason other than the little kick he'll get out of it) sometime in the middle of his school day, another works on finding the very same morty. it's harder than it should be, because he can't trace the portal gun that'd been stolen. he dismisses the idea that morty could've hidden its location himself, which brings him to two conclusions: the first, some other rick did that intentionally; or the second, someone or something led to the device's destruction. neither concept is good. not one part of this situation is good, and he doesn't even know why he's putting so much work into this, because ricks aren't supposed to care about morties... here he is, though, going to all this trouble just to find one morty, out of the infinite. just this single  _one._

it's not like he cares or anything, though. getting a new morty is just more official work than he cares to do, as opposed to the physical stuff. and he'd do anything to avoid the citadel, so he adds that to his list of reasons that feels suspiciously like a list of excuses, and he moves on. the sooner he manages to start tracing the route his morty had taken the other night, the better. he ignores the way his hands shake and his heart pounds, and loses himself in strategy, and, god, he tells himself not to hope that morty is okay. ricks don't hope for anything, especially not where their morties are concerned. right? right.

right...

 

 

 


End file.
